


What A Catch

by detuned_radio



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Angst, Non-Graphic Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, What a Catch Donnie (Song), happy bois at sea, i dont write fantasy man....what am i doing, i just wanted this to be happy but i had to bring all this angst into it, literally completely based off the music video, oh my god these two are so cheesy, patrick is a fisherman, pete is a bird thing, this should really be a more lighthearted fic, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detuned_radio/pseuds/detuned_radio
Summary: A lonely little boat, floating out in a big lonely ocean. No one around for miles. To be fair, in the middle of nowhere, you can sing as loud as you want and no one'll hear you.Except the occasional easily distracted avian.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i start fics and then i abandon them halfway through......place your bets on how long this one will last haha  
> ha  
> im a failure  
> please enjoy

The ocean rolled on for what seemed like forever. Miles and miles of waves. All serene, the sun casting little blinding white diamonds onto the water. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Patrick had felt that way since he’d set out in his boat into the great Pacific Ocean. A tiny little land animal, completely out of its environment, floating on what was basically a glorified piece of driftwood in a huge, heartless ocean that could, at any given moment, rise up and claim him, sink him down to the depths to an icy grave. Nature knew no empathy.

And that’s what was calming about it. A truly neutral force, and maybe it could swallow him up within seconds, but it wasn’t like it was anything personal. That’s just what nature did. Natural selection and all that--and with the way this land mammal was daring to drift out to sea, he certainly was taking his risks at Darwin’s game.

And no matter how much turmoil raged on inside his head, no matter how much of a hurricane his troubled thoughts could stir up, regardless of the waterfalls of tears cascading down from his eyes at times, despite the crashing waves of anxiety and self-doubt, the physical ocean he floated upon remained flat, calm, uncaring. Like a hot piece of metal dropped in freezing water, the contrast was too great. And, sizzling, he’d eventually find his breath and slow the storms in his head. That’s why he like the ocean.

Calm.

Uncaring.

Lonely.

The rays of light the little ship bathed in slowly became more saturated, shifting gradually from white to golden. The sun was steadily descending towards the horizon, and the change in light was what eventually pulled Patrick out of his own mind. He glanced up from where he mopped the deck, squinting in the sunlight. It was getting late, his mind nagged him to get in sooner rather than later. 

Rather tired out, carrying the mop and bucket back inside with almost mechanical movements. His days seemed awfully monotonous, get up at six, toss out a net or break out the fishing pole, skin some fish, gut some fish, cook some fish--god’s sake, he got tired of fish. Then he’d clean up around the boat, read, and go to sleep. It was the same thing almost every day.

He’d read every book he owned about a dozen times.

His prized possession, by far, was his piano. It was a rather pathetic little thing, tiny and cramped into a tight little corner of the ship, and nowhere near the elegance of the grand piano back at home, but it had a nice sound, and it was more than enough. Patrick was just thankful he wasn’t entirely without music--that would likely drive him insane.

He took a seat at the little piano, fingers coming to rest gently on the keys, hesitating only a moment before pressing down. The rest of the notes came rather easy after that. The majority of what he played was complete improvisation, and occasionally he’d find something he liked. He’d repeat little phrases he’d played, switch them around, tweak them here and there, until he was met with a pattern he rather liked. It’s then that he started to hum softly along.

Patrick had never considered his voice to be much of anything special. He could carry a tune, but happened to have a habit of getting way too into it shortly after starting to sing, which is why he rarely did so in front of others. Eventually, he'd start belting out the words-if there even were words-at the top of his lungs, pouring so much emotion into every note that he very nearly brought himself to tears a few times. His voice was loud and powerful, and there was no one around to hear him for miles. 

He sang mostly nonsense words at first, as long as it sounded good with the music, it didn’t really matter what he was singing. Like he did in putting together the melody, slowly words came together. He’d sing a couple words, hum the rest, place in a few new words that sounded good together, and so on. His voice and that of the piano harmonized in a beautiful way, a ballad coming together underneath his fingertips, no one around to hear it.

Well--almost no one.

A loud thud resonated from somewhere outside, the song coming to an abrupt halt as Patrick very nearly jumped out of his skin. The brief idea of sharks, or some gargantuan whale, or a horrible, still undiscovered monstrosity of the deep finally coming to pull Patrick’s little ship under the surface briefly flashed through his mind, before he shook them out of his head. No, it certainly sounded like it came from the upper deck.

Well, the Loch Ness Monster’s neck is long enough for it to have--

For god’s sake. Go see what it is.

Patrick’s internal monologue was yelling at him from all directions. He slowly, on shaking legs, stood up. It was already dark out, making the entire situation all the more creepy and adding another voice to Patrick’s head, although he was pretty sure it had no reasonable insight, and was just kind of screaming. He grabbed a flashlight.

He poked his head cautiously out like a groundhog emerging from its burrows, casting skeptical glances around the area. Okay, no sign of a Kraken, that was good. Tentatively, he climbed up the ladder onto the upper deck, switching on the flashlight and taking small steps forward.

He suddenly felt a hell of a lot like a filler character in a horror movie. Why the hell was he going towards the noise? Shouldn’t he be hiding under his bed, waiting for the threats to go away rather than actively engaging with them? He’d probably end up finding some kind of psycho killer--or, well, it didn’t make a lot of sense for some murderer to just be in the middle of the ocean, so maybe he’d find some absolute horror of the deep beached on his deck, oh, he knew about some of those fish with the teeth so large they couldn’t even close their damn mouths, absolute grotesqueries--

Oh.

Not a fish. Patrick’s mind ruled that out pretty fast. He hadn’t done the best in his biology classes, but he could identify a fish verses not a fish. It didn’t seem to be a reptile either, he sorted through the classes quickly. No, this… animal (he’d skipped over pondering its domain and kingdom, assuming this wasn’t a hallucination or a very, very strange form of bacteria) seemed rather bird-like, if the large, feathered wings were anything to go off of. They were a very soft white, darker grey tinting a few feathers at the tips like that of a seagull. It was, however, definitely too large to be a regular gull, and suddenly he realized the reason why. 

A face, undoubtedly human, was visible from behind the wing for a half a second.

And Patrick? Patrick was struggling to name the thing’s class as mammalia or aves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey i saw that ThatsWildPatrick left kudos on the last chapter.......yo if youre reading this youre a blessing to the fandom and i love your fics...howmst the hecc do you write like novel length fics that well?? that's it please enjoy this chapter

“Fuck,” Pete muttered. He quickly tried to stand back up, causing the rope coiled around his ankle to bring him collapsing down onto the ground, his next attempt at scrambling up faltered by the pain shooting through his right wing. 

“FUCK,” Pete yelled. 

A few seconds later, there was a light shining on him, and he whipped around, staring like a deer caught in the headlights. A flashlight was pointed directly at his face, and he squinted in the light. There was a human standing there, looking utterly stunned. Pete had seen humans before, but never actually interacted with them, avians rarely did. Pete hardly considered himself something to stare at. 

"Will you get that light out of my eyes?” he demanded, and was met with a squeak from the human that made him instantly regret speaking to him in such a harsh tone. 

“Yes--sorry,” Patrick sprang back to life, dropping the flashlight from Pete’s eyes and quickly kneeling down by him, uncoiling the rope from around his leg. Pete sighed with relief, finally managing to stand.

"Thank you,” he muttered, and promptly spread his wings out, intent on leaving again as quick as possible. But as soon as he gave a single flap of his wings, an unbearable pain shot through him, sending him keeling over with a sharp intake of breath.

Patrick was by his side in seconds, Pete felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice buried beneath the ringing in his ears, asking with concern if he was alright. 

"Do I look fucking alright?” he snapped, and again found himself regretting it as Patrick recoiled. 

“N-no, not really…” he mumbled. “I, um… I think you’re wing’s broken.”

He glanced at his back, and cringed at the sight of his right wing--it was crumpled out of shape, bones bent in directions they should most certainly not have been bending. He bit back the ‘yeah, no shit’ that threatened to spill from his lips, not wanting to see that hurt, slightly frightened expression on the guy’s face again. “...Yeah,” he muttered instead.

There was a beat of silence, and then Patrick was asking, “would you like to stay?”

Pete’s head swivelled to look at him, taken aback at the offer. He didn’t know humans could be so generous--granted, he knew close to nothing about humans at all, but he knew them from avian legends and stories as greedy and pillaging, and most certainly not the type to offer a place to stay the night. “Thank you,” he replied softly after a moment’s hesitation.

Patrick just nodded, turning around and gesturing for Pete to pursue. He did, of course, following him down into a cozy little room within the ship. In the warm lighting of a little lantern, he could see the guy’s face a bit better. His skin looked incredibly soft, Pete noted now, as did his lips, and even the look in his eyes as he turned to face Pete. Baby-blue, a golden ring around the iris like the sun’s corona, behind the window of the glasses that framed them, his eyes bore into Pete’s. It was… captivating, to say the least.

“You can have a seat just here if you want,” he offered, and god, even his voice was soft. “I’ll take a look at your wing.”

Pete had to force himself to stop staring just to nod, sitting down on the spot on the low bed that Patrick had offered him. Then there were unbelievably soft hands on his wings, and even with how carefully they moved, Pete couldn’t help but flinch.

Patrick’s hands drifted over the wing, and although he didn’t know too much about bird anatomy, this was certainly wrong.

Patrick’s words rang out from behind him, and even his beautifully soft voice couldn’t sugar-coat it. “I-I think it’s best if I try to set the bone.”

“Oh, god,” Pete groaned. “Please tell me you know what you’re doing.”

He was very disconcerted by the pause. “Somewhat.”

Pete bit his lip and remained silent, which the guy took as initiative to place his hands carefully but firmly on the broken bone. “Okay. Three… two…”

Patrick flinched as he pulled back, twisted, shoved back, trying to ignore the popping sounds. He couldn even stand it when people cracked their knuckles, this was just torture. Patrick’s mantra of “sorrysorrysorrysorry” was drowned out behind Pete’s loud “MOTHERFUCK-!”

And then it was over. Pete was breathing heavily. Patrick wasn’t breathing at all, holding his breath until, “are you okay?”

“Great,” Pete muttered through gritted teeth. 

"Do you want me to bandage it up?” That was met with a look nothing short of horrified from Pete, and Patrick quickly assured him. “I’ll be gentle, promise.”

For some reason, Pete felt compelled to trust him, and he relaxed just a little, nodding. The guy stood up, coming back a little later with a roll of bandages. 

He wasn’t lying. Patrick was gentle. So, mercifully gentle. He wound the bandages around Pete’s wing with meticulous care, winding it between feathers and pulling it tight in just the perfect places, as if he knew where it would hurt Pete the least. Pete sat silently, hunched over with his wings resting behind him, letting Patrick work. The silence was comfortable, until Patrick broke it.

"I’ve never actually seen an avian before,” he mused quietly, almost to himself. And then, clearly directed at Pete. “My name’s Patrick.”

Pete nodded. “Pete. Good to meet you, I guess.” He cleared his throat, “you know, I’ve never actually spoken to a human before. You’re a lot… nicer than I expected.”

That brought a small laugh out of Patrick. “Well, I’m glad…”

“No, really. A lot of the time humans are portrayed as, like, really selfish and territorial. But that’s mostly in folklore and stuff. Not really a reliable source.”

Patrick hummed softly in acknowledgement. “Glad I changed your perspective.” There was a beat of silence, and then, “sorry, I don’t mind to be invasive, but how exactly did you get your wing broken?”

"Your singing.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide and he squeaked out a little “sorry” at that, face turning red, fortunately out of Pete’s line of sight. Pete just laughed. 

"Hey, it’s no problem. It was really nice, is what I’m saying. I guess it just startled me. I got distracted and kind of crashed into your ship. Landed on my wing all weird. But, like, don’t feel bad about it or anything. Not your fault. Plus, your voice is seriously good.”

Patrick was completely flattered-he was never good at taking compliments-and mumbled out a quiet “thank you.” 

“Did you write the song yourself?”

"I mean--kind of. I wouldn’t say ‘write’ is the best term for it. I was really just fiddling around with the piano, you know.” 

"You think you could sing for me sometime?” he asked with a smirk. 

Patrick could hear the grin in Pete’s voice and was blushing hard. “...Maybe,” he mumbled, not having the heart to shoot down the suggestion but dreading actually having to sing in front of someone.

A couple more minutes of silence and Patrick tied off the bandage, pulling back to take a look at his handiwork. It seemed rather good, Pete’s wing was wound up thoroughly, and wasn’t bent horrendously out of shape anymore. Not bad. Taking a glance at his watch, he could tell it was already getting late, when a concern arose.

Where was Pete going to sleep? The ship was hardly big enough for two, and there was only one bed, tiny and cramped. As small as it was, Patrick wasn’t too keen on just giving it up, but at the same time, his… “guest” was injured, and he’d probably feel terrible for making him sleep on the floor. Hospitality won out over comfortability as Patrick announced, “you can have the bed tonight, if you want.”

Pete turned around to look at him with surprise. “Really? You’d let me?”

Patrick forced a little smile and nodded. “Yeah. I mean… you’re injured, so I feel like I probably should--”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence as a strong pair of arms was wrapped around him. “Thank you, seriously, this really means a lot.” He pulled back to smile at Patrick, a smile that had Patrick staring at in a daze as Pete’s eyes crinkled at the edges and his eyes lit up. 

It was just enough to keep him from complaining about sleeping on the floor that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeetyeet thanks as always comments are appreciated thankyouthankyouthankyou


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HhUHdyl1wEo  
> this changed my life....,, how did i live before this,, this has the power to resurrect David Bowie im,,

Waking up the next morning was hell.

Every muscle in his body was stiff, painful, and cramped. Moving hurt. Just lying there hurt. The little blanket he'd thrown around himself hardly protected him from the cold air and colder floor, and as much as it hurt, he started shaking.

Well. Maybe he was being a little dramatic. He'd slept in worse places. But Pete better have had the best goddamn rest of his life.

With an exhausting amount of physical exertion and the sickening cracking of bones and joints that gave Patrick flashbacks to last night’s events, he picked himself up from the ground, casting a glance over at the bed where Pete lay. At least he looked peaceful. His wings were wrapped around his body, mouth very slightly agape and letting out gentle breaths that sent a few feathers in front of his face fluttering like sails in the wind. It was a little adorable, actually. Almost made Patrick forget about how every inch of his body ached.

Almost.

He trudged out into the kitchen, quickly getting some coffee brewing. Wrapped in his thoughts again, he was startled terribly for the second time by Pete as he walked out into the kitchen, a tired expression on his face. “G’morning,” he muttered tiredly.

Patrick jumped and whipped around, relaxing a second later. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Pete shrugged. “You?”

No, absolutely not, Patrick thought, but he didn't really want to make Pete listen to his complaints or feel bad about staying. “Fine,” he said simply.

He got to pouring himself a cup of coffee after that, feeling Pete hovering just over his shoulder, staring intently at Patrick’s motions. “What is that?” He asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously and voice low and skeptical.

“...Coffee?” Patrick raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at Pete, whose face hovered barely inches away. “Oh, don't tell me you've never had it before.”

Pete slowly shook his head and Patrick gaped at his for a moment. How had this guy been living?

“...I’ll pour you a cup.”

Pete accepted it gratefully, clutching the warm mug between cold hands. He raised it to his lips to take a sip, mouth immediately filled with a bitter taste. His face scrunched up in disgust, and he scowled at Patrick’s amused expression as he swallowed it. “You drink this stuff?”

“I guess it's acquired taste,” Patrick laughed. “I'll have your cup if don’t want it.”

Pete paused, glancing down at the small cup. Well, it wasn’t that bad, and Pete would fling himself into the ocean before he denied anything he could digest. “...Nah,” he said simply, taking another sip.

Patrick watched him with growing amusement. Wow, this guy was weird. Apart from the wings and everything. And, in his own way, oddly charismatic. Patrick shook his head, remembering not to get too attached to him. He'd have to leave eventually, and Patrick would be left on his own again, lonely little soul in a big empty ocean.

After “coffee,” as Patrick called it, “bean water” as Pete had taken to referring to it as after requesting a long explanation on its contents, he’d taken the liberty of exploring the little ship. It was very cozy, packed with little trinkets of Patrick’s. Every single one, Pete thought, probably had its own story and meaning to Patrick, and he longed to talk for hours about every single one, but he wasn’t even sure his recovery would take that long. It took a lot of self-control not to touch anything, but he kept a respectful distance, which was especially hard when he came to the piano, which he supposed was the source of the music that had caused his crash the night before.

He wandered through the boat, peaking out portholes and gazing at faces in pictures, even digging through Patrick’s closet briefly before making his way onto the upper deck. He spotted Patrick leaning at the rails, a fishing rod perched next to him. Pete waltzed over, silently leaning on the rail a couple feet from Patrick.

Patrick seemed caught up in his thoughts, so Pete kept silent. That is, until the fishing rod was yanked forward, and Patrick didn’t seem to notice. “Hey… Patrick?” 

Patrick was wrenched from his mind and his eyes shot to Pete, focusing on his face. Pete gave a smile and pointed helpfully at the fishing rod. “I think you’ve got a catch.”

Patrick’s entire demeanor shifted then, from cold and distant back to his regular self. “Oh!” He squeaked, turning his attention to reeling his catch in before it very nearly sent the fishing pole swinging out into the ocean.

Pete watched as Patrick pulled up a fish, quickly and expertly pulling it off the hook. His movements were all fluid and practiced. “You do this a lot?”

Obviously the answer was yes, but thankfully Patrick elaborated a little more for the sake of conversation. “Yep. Every day. I mean--I'm a fisherman, so I ought to be good at it,” he chuckled.

Pete hummed, nodding. “Why'd you decide to be a fisherman?”

“Oh, hell if I know,” Patrick let out a breathy laugh. “It was one of the only things I'm good at, I guess. That and music, but that’d never take me anywhere. I'm not exactly… rockstar material,” he shrugged, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Plus, I just like the ocean. It's calming, and it's very peaceful. Away from everyone.”

Pete’s brow furrowed. “Doesn't it get lonely?”

Patrick shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Of course it does. But I’ve always been pretty introverted, so I guess it doesn't bother me too much.” 

Pete shook his head, looking back at the water that rolled off into the horizon. “Still. I can't imagine being all alone out here. No one around for miles. Complete isolation--it sounds terrifying.”

That was met with another shrug, different people, different preferences, Patrick figured, but it placed a nagging question in his head. “Then what were you doing out here in the first place? I mean, I was pretty far out at sea last night when you crashed.”

He regretted asking the moment he saw a hurt expression appear on Pete’s face, and quickly tried to backpedal. “I mean--if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine--it's just--I'm sorry for asking--”

“No, it's okay,” Pete sighed, eyes fixed down onto the ocean with a distant look. “I don't really know. I was lost, I guess. It's a lot to go into.” 

Patrick was readjusting the fixing pole while Pete spoke, and casted it out into the water, hearing it hit the water with a soft splash. “We've got time,” he turned to Pete.

Pete looked back at him, their eyes meeting for a moment. Again, Pete was infatuated with Patrick’s face. A gentle smile pulled the corners of his mouth up, in a warm and caring expression that Pete couldn't help trusting. 

“I was taking a flight away from my colony on the coast. I'd been gone for maybe a day, but I've been out longer. Didn't really know where I was flying. I do that sometimes, go out for no reason and get myself lost. Gives me a chance to clear my head, you know? But I don't usually get myself this hopelessly lost. I was flying last night, and considering just plunging myself into the water and letting myself drown. I mean, even if I did make it back home they wouldn't want me back--” he cut himself off with a shuddering breath, realizing only then that his eyes were stinging with tears. “Anyway--I saw your boat, and, I guess you now the rest.”

Patrick listened, eyes fixed on Pete with a look of concern and sympathy. He didn't say anything for a while, letting it sink in. He didn't want to reply with a simple “I'm sorry,” that wouldn't mean anything. He figured Pete just needed someone to listen, so kept quiet.

Silence was all that passed between them for a while, Pete managing to blink the tears back and steady his breaths. 

“Hey, Pete?” Patrick spoke up very softly.

Pete’s gaze shot to Patrick’s face immediately. 

“I'm glad you're here.” 

Pete couldn't help the smile that broke across his face, accompanied by a new rush of tears to his eyes that he quickly looked back at the ocean to prevent Patrick from seeing. 

“Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pulled an all nighter last night writing this.......I regret E V E R Y T H I N G

Patrick came to learn rather quickly that Pete had absolutely no concept of personal space. Within the week that Pete had spent aboard the ship, a very large percentage of his hours were spent right next to Patrick, clinging to him like a barnacle on a rock. Not only in the day, but at night as well, especially since Pete had felt bad about taking up the bed and insisted Patrick sleep in it next to him. It was tiny and cramped and there was hardly any room to adjust, but Patrick had to admit, it was better that the floor. Besides, Pete’s wings were marvelously warm and soft, and Patrick couldn't complain about the lack of space when he was curled against Pete’s chest, his wings enveloping him and making him feel more like he was sleeping on a luxurious bed meant for royalty than a tiny, stiff mattress.

It was yet another day that Patrick and Pete leaned against the railing of the ship, gazing out onto the spanning waters. Pete was, as always, right up close to his side. Patrick had found how physically close Pete always insisted on being rather jarring at first, but he didn't want to say anything that may offend him. Hell if he knew a thing about avian culture, maybe this was normal to Pete. Besides, after a couple days, the initial awkwardness had worn off, the two bonding quite quickly.

Patrick was happier than he had been in months, possibly years. Maybe it was the oxytocin. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed the company until he had it, and now that Pete was here, he was perfectly content with their long conversations and occasional out-of-nowhere hugs, when Pete was feeling especially affectionate.

“So, like, if you think about it, ‘dry as a bone’ is a really inaccurate phrase. Not only is the thought of a skeleton being inside you creepy enough, but it's a moist skeleton. How does that make you feel?” Pete was going off on another one of his tangents, which Patrick willingly went along with.

“Weird. But have you ever considered that there isn't a skeleton inside you, but you're actually inside a skeleton? You are your brain. Your brain’s inside your skull…”

“Holy shit,” Pete whispered. “Hey, by the way…”

“Hm?”

“You said you were gonna let me watch you sing?”

Patrick paled, looking away. “Oh, jeez, that'd be a waste of time. I'm not good.”

“Yes you are!” Pete whined, adamant in getting what he wanted. “You were good enough to make me crash. Please?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?” 

“NO.”

“Hey, Patrick,” Pete’s gaze turned so much softer all of a sudden, and he reached out to carefully take Patrick’s hands in his own. “I promise I won't judge you. Even if you're bad-which you're not-you know I'll love it anyway.”

Patrick thought he was going to explode in that moment--his face was red and his heart was hammering in his chest so hard the rush of blood almost stung. Those goddamn whiskey eyes, deep, animated, and emotional, were just boring into his own, seeing right through him.

“God--fine,” he yanked his hands away, trying to get his blush to go down. “But don't expect anything.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked inside the ship, Pete quite pleased with himself as he followed along quickly like an excited puppy.

Patrick took a seat at the little piano, his fingers coming to rest over the keys. The first note was always the hardest, especially with Pete monitoring his movements closely over his shoulder. He ended up pulling his hands back in towards himself, turning to Pete. “God, do you have to be breathing down my neck like that?”

“Sorry,” Pete chuckled, sitting down next to him. “Seriously, don't stress it. It doesn't have to be good. Play whatever you want.”

“Oh, come on, I'm the most indecisive--”

“Okay, okay, play what you were playing when I crashed.”

Patrick sighed, his fingers finding familiar places on the keys. Hesitantly, he pressed down, his hands flying to different keys and picking up the tune again quickly.

He was pretty confident with how it was going, as a matter of fact, until he heard Pete chanting in a whisper, “sing. Sing. Sing. Sing.”

He snorted, his hands not stopping on the piano. “I don't have any lyrics, y’know.”

“Doesn't matter. Sing nonsense.”

Patrick sighed, hesitating, but he felt soft feathers over his back, and relaxed a little. Honestly, fuck Pete for being able to calm him down that fast. It was utterly unfair.

Without thinking, improvised nonsense spilled from his lips. He started out singing softly, but slowly his voice mounted into a powerful, soulful sound. He picked up whatever words came to his mind, trying them out, like a radio flipping through stations.

“...I’ve got troubled thoughts… self-esteem to match…” an interval of humming, “what a catch.”

When he stopped singing, not ceasing to draw sounds out of the old wooden piano, his eyes drifted to Pete, sitting to him. His eyes were closed, his face graced with a small smile, he looked completely content and serene.

His eyes opened after a moment after Patrick stopped singing. “Hm? Why’d you stop?”

“You look like you're falling asleep,” Patrick mused with a smile.

“It's really calming,” Pete shrugged. “Reminds me of lonely summers. But, like, a nice kind of lonely. Sweet melancholy.”

“Mm.”

“And of empty beaches. Long walks by yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“And of breaking my fucking wing.”

That earned Pete a jab in the rib with Patrick’s elbow, sending him doubling over in slight pain and raucous laughter. Patrick just kept playing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks @ school for ruining my upload/sleep schedule

A month. Nearly a month had passed since Pete had joined Patrick on his boat, and his wing felt infinitely better. He could actually move it around now, flap slowly and, although he hadn't really had the courage to give it a try yet, may be able to get himself at least a few feet off the ground at this point.

While he was relieved, it was also bittersweet. It just meant that his time with Patrick was running short, eventually he'd have to return home, and Patrick would just become a memory. He didn't want to leave him. He'd gotten so fond of their long conversations, of listening to Patrick sing, of waking up with him cuddled into his wings.

Pete’s eyes cracked open, a bright beam of light flowing in through the porthole shining in his eyes. Immediately, a smile broke into his face. Patrick wasn't in bed, but out in the kitchen, from the sound of it, singing loudly. His sweet voice drifted through the air, bringing life to the whole ship. Pete pulled himself out of bed, walking out to the tiny kitchen and leaning on the doorframe, just watching Patrick for a moment.

_“God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson, heaven holds a place for those who pray… hey, hey, hey.”_

“Hey.”

“Hey!” Patrick turned around from where he was doing dishes, greeting Pete with a smile. “Good morning.”

“You too,” he walked over, leaning on the sink at Patrick’s side. “You're up early.”

Patrick shrugged. “I guess. Before you came along, dragging my sleep schedule into oblivion, I usually got up around six.”

Pete looked utterly disgusted. “How!?”

“By going to bed at nine.”

“Then you must be pretty glad I came along.”

Patrick laughed, turning his attention back to the sink. “Sure, Pete,” he said sarcastically, but the sarcasm itself was sarcastic. Pete got the gist of it, and knew Patrick was happy to have him around. He just seemed to have gotten happier and happier over the course of Pete staying with him, and could hardly be seen without a smile.

Pete took a step towards Patrick, his wings winding around the other boy’s frame and holding him close. Patrick dropped what he was doing immediately for favor of leaning in to Pete’s chest, putting his arms around him in a gentle hug. “Cuddly today, hm?”

Pete shrugged. “I guess.”

“I don't mind.”

“I know you don't.”

Patrick nuzzled slightly against Pete’s broken wing, running a gentle hand down it and inspecting the old bandages. “Is your wing feeling any better?”

“Yeah, actually. I wanted to try out flying today.” 

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “You're sure? I mean, you could hurt yourself, or--or make it worse, or you might fall out into the water--”

“Patrick,” Pete pulled back to look at Patrick’s face, a small, amused smile pulling at his lips. 

Patrick visibly relaxed, sighing and sinking back into a hug. “I'm sorry. I'm being overprotective, aren't I?”

Pete chuckled, giving Patrick a little pat on the head. “I'll be careful, mom.”

“Shut up,” Patrick laughed. “Alright. We’ll give it a shot, then.”

-

Pete and Patrick found themselves out on the deck about an hour later, Patrick unwinding the bandage from around Pete’s wing with the same gentle care as he’d applied it with.

Pete smiled, tilting his head back to look at him. “You don't have to be that careful, you know. It doesn't hurt anymore, promise.”

Patrick sighed, pulling the last of the bandage off from around Pete’s wing. “I know, I just don't want to, like, I don't know… break it again.”

“You won't break it again,” Pete laughed.

“Well, how do I know? Aren’t your bones extra fragile or something ‘cause they’re hollow?”

“My bones aren’t hollow!”

“Then how the hell do you fly?”

“Oh, shit…” Pete stared at the ground. “So you're telling me I'm inside of a moist, _hollow_ skeleton?”

Patrick laughed. “Just fly, Pete.”

With a grin, he spread out his wings, giving them an experimental flap. No excruciating pain or cracking of bones, that was a good sign. A few more beats of his wings and he managed to get himself a couple feet off the ground, hovering there for a moment and turning to Patrick with an excited expression.

Patrick was looking up at him with a large smile, and gave him a thumbs up.

Flapping up a bit higher, Pete was able to catch a drift of wind and start soaring around the ship. It felt wonderful, since he hadn't been able to fly in so long. It was a relief to find that exhilarating freedom again. He dove down, whizzing past Patrick’s head and circling around him like a vulture.

“God, it feels so good to fly again.”

Patrick grinned up at him. “Glad to hear it.”

“You need to feel it--hell, I’ll fly you around.”

The smile dropped off Patrick’s face. “I really don't think that's a good idea, Pete. This was supposed to be a quick flight to test how you’re doing, not to put more strain on your wings.”

Pete obviously wasn't listening. “You hear that? That's falls-asleep-at-nine-wakes-up-at-six-Patrick.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

“Mhmm. I want _my_ Patrick.”

“ _Your_ Patrick?” He raised an eyebrow, amused. 

In a fluid motion, Pete swooped down, hoisting Patrick up to his arms. Patrick gave a startled squeak and clung to him as he gave a particularly strong beat of his wings, pulling them both up into the air again. It was clear that it took a lot of effort, but Patrick was too petrified to care right now.

“Oh my god, ohmygodohmygodohmygod I’m going to die,” Patrick screwed his eyes shut, clinging onto Pete like his life depended on it--which, it kind of did. 

Pete laughed. “No, you're not, that’s six-in-the-fucking-morning-Patrick. Open your eyes.”

“No.”

“Okay, then I guess I’ll just have too…” Pete loosened his grip on Patrick for a tiny second, but it was enough to make Patrick help and cling tighter to him. 

“That wasn’t funny!”

“Yes it was.”

Patrick opened his eyes hesitantly, looking down and, oh wow. They were high up. He tried to relax, drawing deep breaths. The wind whipped at his hair, and with a deep inhale he breathed in the salty ocean air.

Pete was right. It was a wonderful feeling, free, thrilling, like a roller coaster but with less piercing screaming and more warm arms around him. “Alright,” Patrick admitted, “it was a little funny.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting this in oregon because i'm a lil pacific northwest kid and it's all i knOw

Pete, for the first time in a long time, lay awake, staring up at the ceiling as thoughts held him back from sleep. Even with Patrick curled into his side, which had proved useful in lulling Pete to sleep almost every night over the past few weeks, he couldn't get the flurry of thoughts raging on behind his eyes to calm down enough for him to close them.

Carefully, he pried himself away from Patrick, which was a slow and delicate process seeing as he was practically intertwined with Pete's wings. Pete climbed up onto the deck where the night air, cooled by the miles of freezing water, hit him at once. He made his way over to the edge of the deck, sitting down so his legs dangled off the edge. 

He gazed out into the water. The ocean was flat and calm, rocking the little boat up and down on its surface. The deep blue of the sea was almost unintelligible from that of the sky, and the reflection of the stars on the water gave the impression of floating out not on the water but amongst the stars beyond the earth’s atmosphere.

The serenity of the soft sound of waves lapping at the sides of the ship and the vastness of the sea and sky was calming, and he almost could have drifted to sleep then, if it weren't for the persistent thought.

He didn't want to leave Patrick.

Part of him wished his wing never healed for the sake of staying with him. It was ridiculous how fast he'd get attached, Pete knew, but he couldn't help it. He loved Patrick. It was impossible not to. His smile, his soft blue eyes, his angelic voice. He'd give anything to stay in this little paradise.

Pete knew he had an awful habit of falling too far, too fast. He'd always been that way, and every time he was sure he'd found his soulmate, he’d confess his feelings for them in his typical poetic, dramatic and heartfelt manner, and--he didn't even know. Maybe it was just too much for them. They'd leave him to recuperate on his own, pick up the shattered pieces of his heart and ponder over them for a while. Sometimes it'd be a while before he could put them back together. Sometimes he'd inspect those broken pieces, sometimes he'd let himself lament over them, he’d let himself wallow in heartbroken self-pity until he saw someone else and thought “they must be the one to save me.” And it'd all happen again.

He’d never learned. He probably never would. He hated himself for it, terribly. He was so hopelessly hopeful, sometimes he asked himself why he didn't just give up.

And Patrick was just the same as everyone else he'd fallen abruptly for. He was so attached, he knew he couldn't just let go again, but there was no way, absolutely not a chance Patrick could love him as much as Pete loved Patrick. He'd never had a single relationship in which it was equal, how much he loved the person and how much they loved him. Pete, often times, loved too much. A heart like his was a curse.

“Pete?” Patrick’s voice was just above a whisper. Pete glanced over his shoulder to where Patrick stood. He looked like he'd just woken up, his glasses were crooked and his hair was a mess, and he had his arms wrapped around himself for warmth as he shook slightly in the cold.

“Hey,” Pete replied. “Did I wake you up?”

Patrick shook his head, sitting down next to him. “Well. Kinda. Your absence did. The bed gets cold.” His statement was punctuated with a shiver.

A warm wing was around Patrick within an instant, pulling him close to Pete’s side. Silky feathers fell around him, and he nuzzled gratefully into them, a whole whirlwind of soft whiteness filling his senses. Quiet, soothing, like a snowfall but much warmer. 

“Can’t sleep?” Patrick asked gently.

Pete nodded. “Can’t sleep.” He was quiet again. Patrick wasn’t asking for an explanation, Pete wouldn’t go into one. “Patrick?”

“Mhmm?”

“When’re you returning to shore?” Part of him hoped the answer would be ‘never,’ but realistically, of course, that’s far from what he got.

“About a week from now,” he answered. “You want me to take you back home?”

Pete’s gaze was fixed to the water, refusing to look back at Patrick. “Yeah,” he forced himself to respond, “I guess so.”

“Where’s your colony?”

“Cannon Beach.”

“Oh, I’ve been there,” Patrick smiled a little at the memory, closing his eyes as he leaned against Pete’s shoulder. He looked so calm and peaceful, everything was serene, Patrick, the water, everything except Pete. “I’m docking at Lincoln City. It’s a couple hours’ drive, it won’t be any problem. I’ll get you home.”

Pete felt horrible for not saying thank you. He felt worse for not even considering thanking Patrick, but no part of him was thankful that he had to leave him. The reasonable side of his mind knew, though, that Patrick was the one that was thinking. Of course, if it were up to Pete, he would be staying with Patrick at all costs, sticking to his side and abandoning everything to stay with him. But Patrick seemed to actually think with his logical mind rather that his wildest emotions, and of course, that was best. Pete wasn’t going to force Patrick to stay with him. That didn’t mean, however, that leaving him wouldn’t hurt like hell.

“Trick?” Pete spoke up, one of his multiple affectionate nicknames for Patrick he’d taken up saying. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m so glad I met you.” Pete wasn’t at all sure where he was going with what he was saying. Pouring his heart out probably wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t just let Patrick go without letting him know how much he meant to Pete. “You came along at exactly the right time--I didn’t know I needed you, but I really did, and I don’t know if I can thank you enough for that.”

Patrick was silent for a long enough time to make Pete uneasy. Hell, he’d been holding back, was even that too melodramatic? “You never told me much about that one night,” Patrick said at last.

At least it wasn’t an outright rejection. Pete tensed up a little, it wasn’t a comfortable topic, although there was no one in the world he’d rather talk to about it. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.” He looked down at his hands, picking aimlessly at his nails. “I guess it’s cause I didn’t want you to worry that much. But--you’ve told me a lot about you, I guess I should open up, huh?”

“Don’t feel pressured.”

“I don’t,” Pete assured, followed with a pause to collect his thoughts. “You know I wasn’t in the best place… mentally, at the time. You know I was running away. I don’t know what I was running toward, or from, but I needed to get away. I don’t know if it was a loss of control, or giving up control to the wrong part of my mind, but it was stupid. I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, it makes sense. I’ve gone running for no reason too, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” Pete was at least thankful he was getting it. “I really was considering plunging into the water that night. Getting it over with. It was all too loud, and the noise was in my own mind, and it was kind of a state of panic when I realised I couldn’t escape it--and you came along at exactly the right time. Your voice--that’s all it took. It pulled me out of my head for just long enough. It caught me off-guard, yeah, but I really needed it. I can’t thank you enough for that. I really can’t. You’re--you’re honestly one of the best things to happen to me.”

“You know, I’ve been happier since you showed up that I have been in… I can’t even remember,” Patrick whispered. “I’m so happy you came along. I needed the company, and you were the one who showed me I couldn’t go on floating out here alone.”

And Pete did something truly stupid. He couldn’t help it, the sudden rush of emotion, the sudden impact of just how damn much he loved this guy--Pete pulled him into a kiss.

He realized just how bad of an idea it was shortly after it was too late, but from the moment their lips collided, everything felt like it had sped up, which was utterly unfair seeing as Pete wanted to cherish every detail. He didn’t really have time to think better of it and pull away before Patrick was kissing back, and Pete suddenly felt like he had to be dreaming.

And yet, when Patrick pulled away with a soft smile on his face, Pete realized his mind couldn’t create something that gorgeous. It was real, and holding back be damned--Pete brought their lips together again with so much force and strong emotion it nearly toppled Patrick over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so non-essential haha i just want the boys to be happy before i start having to up the ante (alsoiveneverwrittensmutinmylifelmaohelpme)

If Pete had known a month ago that soon he’d be making out with an adorable human on the deck of a sailing ship, he’d have laughed it off as insane. And yet, here he was, laying overtop Patrick as their lips danced together, and trying his damn hardest not to fall off the side of the boat, because that would be a terrible way to die.

Slowly, somehow, without breaking the heated kisses, they maneuvered their way down the ladder back inside the ship.

They found themselves staring at each other for a moment, dazed eyes gazing into dazed eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. A conversation that seemed to end in “we should continue,” because the next thing he knew Patrick was laid on the bed, Pete just above him, hands wandering along his body and soft hums and sounds of approval slipping out between kisses. 

Pete’s lips began to drift lower, pressing gentle kisses along Patrick’s jaw, gradually down to his neck. Patrick was more than eager to comply, tilting his head back and giving him more access. Pete’s hands still roamed across his chest with a feather-light touch, down over Patrick’s arms, curling to tangle with his fingers momentarily before dropping away to dip beneath the hem of Patrick’s shirt. Although his movements ghosted over Patrick’s skin with unbelievable gentleness, the feeling was all that filled his mind, making every brush of skin against skin send electricity down his spine.

And then Pete’s hand was rising steadily higher and higher, Patrick’s shirt riding up with it, until abruptly his actions stopped, and he glanced back at him. “Hey, uh, is this--” 

Okay. Pete was clearly an impulsive guy. His emotions pulled him along, his logical mind taking a back seat to whatever his heart wanted. Patrick was not. Impulsiveness had never been a trait of his, in fact, every choice he made had to go through reconsideration after reconsideration, sifted through multiple facts and points and counter-arguments before they could be put into play. All that being said, Patrick had been alone on a boat for a long time, and in addition, the presence of his unexpected guest had left little time for more… private activities. He already knew where this was going, and he was young, with a sex-drive normal for someone his age, as well as caught up in the heat of the moment, and possible consequences on their relationship, furthermore-how difficult this could make it to leave each other-all of it aside, he wanted this. He was sure of it. “Yes,” he cut Pete off breathlessly before he could even finish the question. “Yes. Please.”

Pete didn’t need much more convincing than that. He tugged up at Patrick’s shirt, pulling it off and tossing it haphazardly halfway across the cabin. Now, Patrick had never been all that confident when it came to his looks, and his immediate instinct was to cross his arms over his body, a blush that spread from his face to his chest blooming to his skin.

Pete found it utterly adorable. Gently, he moved Patrick’s arms aside, kissing down along his chest with murmurs of how gorgeous he was, because he’d always been skilled at flattery. Despite how much Patrick was blushing and how terrible he was at receiving praise, he couldn’t deny he was enjoying it. 

“No fair,” Patrick eventually muttered, tugging lightly at Pete’s shirt. “I don’ wanna be the only one without clothes on here.” Pete wasn’t one to argue, and the rest of their garments were soon shed after that. 

Pete’s kisses were relentless. It seemed he couldn’t be satisfied unless his lips had covered each and every inch of Patrick’s skin, not that he was complaining. However, it was somewhat annoying how teasing Pete was while gently kissing a nibbling at his plush thighs, glancing up at him with a sly expression that made Patrick unsure whether he wanted to kiss him or punch him.

Their eyes caught briefly and Patrick couldn’t take it, tossing his head back against the pillow. “Pete,” he whined, fingers tangling in Pete’s hair, “C’mon, dude, you are the worst--” he cut himself off with a sudden moan, nothing short of pornographic, as Pete finally gave him what he wanted, a tiny amount of much-needed stimulation, just enough to make Patrick stop complaining but hardly enough to satisfy him.

As amazing as that fucking tongue was, Patrick was losing patience with Pete’s whole teasing game. “Goddamn it, Pete, if you don’t get inside me now--”

“What? Can’t I have a little fun?” Pete looked up at him with a trademark smirk Patrick hated to admit he adored.

“C’mon, please--”

“Well, if you ask so nicely…” Pete pulled himself back up, delivering a kiss that stood out starkly in its innocence to Patrick’s lips, before pulling away to look at him. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring any lube onto a little boat you knew you’d be out here alone on…?”

His voice was dripping with sarcasm, which Patrick promptly ignored, reaching over (with a little bit of difficulty, considering Pete was still practically laid on top of him) to the bedside drawer and fishing out a small bottle.

Pete looked surprised, if not impressed. “What? You were expecting me?”

“Shut up. You really think I’m gonna spend two months out here without jerking off? Cut me some slack here.”

Pete just laughed, and the next thing Patrick knew, there was the sound of a bottle cap snapping open and seconds later a cold finger pushing into him. He squirmed uncomfortably at first, arms hooked around Pete’s neck. “You’re doing it wrong,” he mumbled, blushing face buried in Pete’s shoulder, although his statement didn’t hold much weight when hardly a second later he was letting out a pleasured cry.

“You want to tell me more about how I’m doing this wrong?” Pete said smugly.

Any snarky reply Patrick could formulate was lost, drowned out in the sea of pleasure as he felt another finger push into him, soon followed by a third. He kept letting out little whimpers, gasps and quiet whispers of “yes,” and “more.”

“Patrick, quit making all those noises, I’m gonna nut.”

Patrick grimaced. “Pete, don’t say nut. That’s not sexy.”

“You’re not sexy,” Pete countered weakly. “Actually I take that back. You are. Like, unbearably sexy.”

“Just fuck me already.”

“Language!”

Needless to say, Patrick’s request was quickly fulfilled, and conversation became scarce aside from each others’ names and quiet assurances to keep going or speed up. 

Patrick came first, with a cry of Pete’s name and his back arching up from the mattress. Pete followed soon after, collapsing panting onto Patrick, wings falling limply to take up every inch of space on the tiny bed.

Patrick shoved him lightly. “Dude. Get off. You’re crushing me.”

“It’s kind of weird to call someone you just had sex with ‘dude,’ dude,” Pete chuckled, slowly rolling off from on top of Patrick to lay at his side.

Patrick rolled his eyes, curling up against him quickly, arms around him and face nuzzled into his chest. “Whatever, dude.”

Pete laughed, a lighthearted and loveable laugh that made Patrick smile. They were silent for a moment longer, Pete’s fingers delicately carding through Patrick’s hair until he spoke. “Patrick?”

“Mm,” Patrick responded sleepily.

“That was really amazing. Like, really fucking good.”

“Pete.”

“What?”

“Language.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im terrified of the ocean in case you cant tell by now

Patrick leaned on the railing, eyes fixed on the sky. Pale blue was directly above him, but in the distance, dark gray storm clouds culminated and conspired, swirling in a dark haze off on the horizon. 

Suddenly, arms were around him, resting lightly over his shoulders and holding him against a comforting, solid warmth. Patrick smiled and tilted his head back. “Hey, Pete.”

“Hi,” Pete replied, running a hand through Patrick’s hair and laying a small kiss on his forehead. “I was just wondering if you were gonna make dinner sometime? It’s getting a bit late.”

Patrick snorted. “Or, you know, you could learn to cook for yourself.”

Pete shrugged, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s torso and burying his head in Patrick’s shoulder. “I’ll burn the ship down.”

“We’re floating on miles and miles of water.”

“Oil fires, Patrick…”

Patrick laughed and dropped his arms from the railing, turning around to face Pete. “Okay,” he relented, kissing the tip of Pete’s nose. “I’ll do it to make sure you don’t set the entire ocean on fire.”

Things had fallen into a routine since Pete had shown up, not unlike how they had been before. The only difference being, now, it wasn’t as miserable or depressingly monotonous. Patrick was no longer isolated and alone, Pete’s mind had stopped screaming at him, for the most part. It was the kind of routine both could easily see themselves falling into and staying in.

Of course, just when things seemed to be going well, it had to all come crashing down. It wasn’t anything personal--nature does as nature does--but it sure as hell isn’t fair.

It was late at night, or early in the morning, or tiptoeing on the fine line between both when boat was first rocked violently with the terrifying power of the ocean. It very nearly sent Patrick careening out of the bed, if it hadn’t been for the soft weight of Pete’s wings holding him close. It did, however, succeed in waking them both up. 

It was a scramble from there, Patrick trying to get up onto the deck despite being violently thrown one way or another every few seconds. 

He managed to claw his way up, to be met with rain pounding down so hard the drops almost hurt against his skin and winds shrieking in his ears. It was so dark, the sky shrouded thoroughly in dark storm clouds and hiding away the light of the stars and moon. Patrick cursed himself silently--he’d seen the storm coming, he should’ve changed course--when he was wrenched mercilessly against the side of the ship. The collision knocked the wind out of him, and he had to keep his eyes closed to block out any other sensation and focus on breathing again, and when he opened them, the other sensations started becoming more noticeable, more overwhelming, burning into his skin.

Freezing water was lapping against him, and he had to hang on the the side of the boat with all his strength, as he realized it was tilting at an unnatural angle. All around him were enormous waves, crashing relentlessly over and over into the little boat, like a cat playing with its prey before killing it. Awesome, terrifying, showing up uninvited with a truckload of existential terror over the very real prospect of imminent death.

Pete appeared at his side, emerging from god only knows where out of the dark. It took Patrick a moment to realize his lips were moving, and he had to force himself to focus hard, since it was so had to hear over the sound of the wind. 

Something about the lower deck being filled with water. Patrick’s heart sank. So did the ship. 

“Patrick. C’mon, listen please,” Pete could tell he was kind of phasing out. Patrick could tell Pete was trying to appear more calm than he was. “It’s going down, Trick--do you have a--a raft, or something?”

“Of course I have a fucking raft,” he replied, strangely calm. He’d gone well beyond panic at this point, the part of his mind registering fear must have decided to shut down to let him think at all. He didn’t even say it aggressively, it sounded more like a revelation than anything. A raft.

“Where!” Pete yelled over the wind. His mind worked entirely opposite of Patrick’s, while to Patrick it all felt so surreal it must be a dream, for Pete it was all too real, everything gained definition, every sensation so acute and overwhelming.

Patrick detached himself from Pete’s grasp, making his way down into the ship, his motions pre-programmed and mindless. 

He was going numb from the water that rose to his waist in the cabin, his body as well as his mind. If he didn’t drown, he thought, he’d probably get hypothermia. He already knew where the raft was, of course, but hesitated for a long time in actually taking it. It all seemed like too much effort, everything was sinking, now, he was less and less sure there was anything worth saving. His self-preservation instinct was utterly pathetic, admittedly, but giving up was such a temptation.

Of course, Pete wouldn’t let him. Where Patrick didn’t want to continue, Pete pushed him onward whether he wanted to or not. Pete’s arms were around him, pulling him up, struggling to fly him up in the air, out of the ship. 

“I thought you were dead, you were down there for so long, you idiot,” he yelled, his voice breaking a few times, and Patrick was suddenly overwhelmingly guilty, hearing the distress in Pete’s voice. 

“Sorry,” he responded weakly.

And Pete couldn’t handle that tone of voice, never could, so he kissed him once and got to work dragging both himself and Patrick to survival.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY TICKETS FOR THE FOB CONCERT JUST ARRIVED HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  
> also I've been reading Pete Wentz's book aND IT'S REALLY FUCKING GOOD AND REALLY FUCKING EMOTIONAL IM EMO HELP

The sun eventually crawled up over the line of the horizon, bringing little warmth with it as it did. It was long after the sun had risen in the sky before any words were passed between them. 

Patrick had taken to curling up in Pete’s lap and wrapping himself in his wings, keeping him warm throughout the night and providing some much-needed comfort. It was worse now, the only thing between them and a vast, unforgiving ocean was a flimsy raft. He stared off into the distance with a blank stare, his mind had been mulling over the same thoughts for hours.

Pete, on the other hand, had a good amount of nervous energy, and had already exhausted the excuse of flying up to try and scout out land, which had proved to be a pointless endeavor. The storm had blown them hopelessly off course and entirely at nature’s mercy. 

Pete sifted through the little bag of supplies that’d come with the raft, seemingly taking a lot of interest in every trinket. It was certainly more interesting--and less depressing--than staring out at spanning waters. He was currently poking Patrick repeatedly on the cheek with a glowstick, to absolutely no response. Patrick’s eyes were blank, fixed forward with a dead stare. 

“C’mon, Trick, it’s not so bad. Crack a smile? Please?” It made Pete nervous when Patrick got like this. He wanted to diffuse the situation, at least a little, make Patrick laugh, or smile, or just respond in any way at all.

He was met with a soft groan, a beat of silence, and then a soft, “we’re going to die out here.”

Pete’s face fell, and he pulled Patrick a little tighter against his body with his wings. “Oh, don’t say that. We’ll be alright. Promise.”

“No you don’t. You can’t,” Patrick sighed. “I don’t care at this point. I don’t have anything on land to return to. I just lost everything. Everything I ever had, and now it’s sinking to the bottom of the ocean. That’s it. I’ve got nothing.”

That broke Pete’s heart to hear. “You’ve got me,” he offered softly.

Patrick didn’t even look at Pete. “No offence, but I’ve only known you for hardly a month…”

That hurt to hear. Patrick could tell Pete took it pretty hard, and immediately tried to reconcile. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that this--”

“No, I understand,” Pete cut him off. “You’re right. You are. I knew--we both knew--this wasn’t gonna last forever. I mean, I met you just a few weeks ago, It’s not like I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you,” he let out a laugh, utterly faked, dry, and humorless, because it hurt so much to force the words out. They felt so uncomfortable sitting on his tongue. “But listen to me. We’re going to be okay, we’re going to survive, I’ll go back home, so will you, and you’ll be happy.” He placed a hand on Patrick’s cheek, gently tilting his face towards his own just to make sure Patrick was listening. “You’ll be happy,” he repeated again.

That, finally, made Patrick smile, a tiny and faint smile, but a smile nonetheless, and Pete thanked every deity he could think of for that. His own lips curled upward and he leaned down, pressing his grin to Patrick’s.

Patrick sighed when he pulled away from the kiss, looking up at Pete with absolute admiration and affection, at least, that’s how Pete chose to perceive it. Patrick’s eyes looked entirely different to how they did staring out at the water moments before. It was like Pete had managed to melt away the blank glaze over Patrick’s eyes, reveal the sparkling blue, the golden corona, in all its vivid, beautiful color.

Pete poked Patrick on the cheek with the glowstick again, drawing a little laugh out of him that Pete wanted to record and listen to over and over and over. Pete went back to going through the bag again, Patrick watching with mild amusement this time.

Pete suddenly recoiled, face contorting in some kind of disgust. “What the hell,” Pete whispered to himself, pulling out of the bag a small pistol. “Is this just so you can kill yourself before the sharks get you? Jesus, that’s dark…”

Patrick snorted. “That’s a flare gun, idiot.”

“Oh,” Pete muttered, head craning upward as he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger, a loud and bright flare exploding into the sky. 

Patrick sighed, laying on his back and watching the flare dance into the air, calling out for someone, anyone’s attention to an empty sky. “Hope that wasn’t a waste,” he muttered once the loud burst of excitement was over and done.

“Yeah,” Pete took a moment to stare at the little flare gun, a kind of far-off look as if it were actually a real pistol, before stuffing it back in the bag and huffing softly as he relaxed again.

“Patrick?” He broke another stretch of silence. Conversation had been sparse, what little their tired and frightened minds could deliver were like islands, little spots of welcomed dry land in oceans of silence large enough to drown in. No way in hell Pete was going to drown in it, though, when the prospect of drowning in a literal ocean was very real.

“Mm.”

“I don’t really know how long we have out here together,” he prefaced, not really knowing where he was going with this train of thought. He was just thankful that Patrick seemed to remain on board, even though it seemed like this train was heading quickly off the tracks. “If we get out of this alive--which we will--we’re gonna leave each other.” He wanted Patrick to derail him right there. Argue that, no, there was a chance they could stay together, but of course, he stayed silent. So Pete continued down the broken down track, waiting for Patrick to tip him over. “I mean, I’m an avian… you’re a human… I suppose there’s not a lot of chance our worlds could collide in any graceful way, huh?” He was met again with silence. Of course, he thought. Patrick was too smart to acknowledge what they had as anything apart from what it was, what it had always been; doomed from the start.

He stopped trying to derail himself, stopped trying to guilt Patrick into derailing him. Accepted the steady course, thundered onward. “So. That’s alright. But I won’t forget about you, okay? I’m really glad I met you.” He was leaving a lot unsaid. ‘Glad I met you’ was a massive understatement. There were plenty of vows and declarations that he had to serenade Patrick with that would never reach him.

Why shouldn’t they?

Pete asked himself, seriously. Worst case scenario, Patrick would get scared off, and that wouldn’t really matter, since they would soon either die or part ways anyway. He’d already recited the words in his mind a million times. There was nothing holding him back. Nothing more tethering him down.

“Listen, Patrick, I--” he was cut off by some kind of sound in the distance. His head shot up, scanning the horizon. Part of his mind was screaming at him to keep talking, but the part of him that was still scared to get the words out was desperate for any distraction, any excuse to stop talking. 

“You what?” Patrick took a moment to catch on, his eyebrow quirked and his gaze slowly following Pete’s. His eyes went a little wide then, because, unless he was hallucinating--which didn’t seem plausible, since Pete was clearly seeing something too--there was certainly something in the distance, hovering just above where the sky and water met and steadily approaching.

He kept his eyes on whatever it was when he talked, scared that if he looked away it may disappear. “You’re seeing that?” he whispered.

Pete nodded, a small motion which Patrick just barely picked up on in his peripheral vision, before Pete stood up. This severely threw off the balance of the raft, causing Patrick to let out a little yelp and a scolding “Pete!” but Pete caught his hands and kept him steady as he stared off into the distance. 

“What? What is it? Is it a helicopter? Did they see the flare?” Patrick wondered out loud. The shapes continued approaching, and soon it was clear to see that they were humanoid, apart from the large wings. 

“No,” Pete said, a grin starting to split across his face, “that’s Joe and Andy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIX DAYS TILL MY FOB CONCERT

As Joe and Andy approached, Patrick was able to make out the details on their wings. They were the same color as Pete’s, white with grey just barely grazing the tips. Just like a seagull’s.

“Where,” one of the avians had quickly approached Pete, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, “the fuck have you been?”

“Joe, get off, it’s a long story…” Pete managed to squirm his way out of his grasp.

The other avian had his eyes adamantly fixed on Patrick, who, having no idea what to do with a pair of eyes boring into him, was glancing awkwardly at the water, down to his hands, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he was. On top of a melting death glare, the guy was pretty intimidating. Pete’s friend, or who he assumed (hoped) was his friend couldn’t have been much taller than Patrick, but he had the muscle to make up for it. He looked like he would be able to lift Patrick with a single arm. Patrick was just hoping he wouldn’t get beat up.

When he glanced back up, he was relieved to find that the avian had redirected his gaze to Pete. “Pete, who’s this?” he asked, and Patrick had to stifle a laugh, because the voice did not fit the appearance. He had a sweet, soft little voice, and while he still looked like he could probably knock someone out with his finger, he sounded kind enough.

“Oh,” Pete drifted back to Patrick, sitting down next to him and putting a wing around him protectively. “Guys, this is Patrick. Patrick, These are Joe and Andy.”

Joe grinned, offering a handshake which Patrick hesitantly returned, and Andy gave a nod. “How did you end up with a human?” he addressed Pete again.

“Oh, he _is_ a human!” Joe exclaimed, and Pete nodded.

“It’s kind of a long story, but we’ve spent about the past month together. I broke my wing and fell on his ship, he ended up taking care of me for a while until it healed. And then the boat kind of sank and we ended up… well,” he gestured around them.

The story seemed to go over Joe’s head, and he was smirking at Patrick, who was still wrapped in Pete’s wing. “So you’re fucking a human now, Wentz?”

Pete’s eyes went the size of moons and he almost fell out of the raft. “What--no, we’re not--it’s not like--” Patrick, despite how red his face had gotten, raised an eyebrow at Pete, giving him an inquisitive look. He shut up pretty quickly.

The shit-eating grin on Joe’s face just got wider. “You are! You totally are! Fuck, Patrick, dude, I’m so sorry--”

Andy was clearly amused, but cleared his throat. “Whether they are sexually involved or not, Patrick, we’ll help you get home,” he gave a warm smile, and Patrick found himself taking a liking to Andy already, not only did he seem like a sweet person, but Patrick was thanking his lucky stars that he’d changed the subject. 

“Thank you,” Patrick replied with a small smile. 

He discovered that Joe and Andy were in fact both sweet, cordial and welcoming, as they flew him to shore (Patrick was right, Andy could lift him with little to no effort). 

Returning to land had always been an experience, one that escaped words in a lot of ways. The moment he was carefully set back on land, feeling ground--real, solid ground that wasn’t floating above bottomless waters--he felt at home. There was something intrinsically soothing about the ocean, something programmed into ancient parts of the mind and written into every gene, but there was a good reason some creature had first dragged itself out of the waters millions of years ago, and this had to be it. A feeling of flooding relief, security, finally back on solid ground. He wanted to drop to the sand and just sprawl out, bury himself in it, stay there on dry land and never cast a glance out at the ocean again, but instead he gave Andy a grateful smile which was quickly reciprocated. 

From the corner of his eyes, Patrick could see Pete, his head hung and his eyes trained on the sand which he kicked at aimlessly as he landed. His wing, at least, seemed to be doing fine. Pete himself--maybe not as much.

Patrick didn’t have a lot of time to ponder over it as Joe was quickly taking him by the hand, which he had no choice but to just go along with and be dragged across the beach while Joe enthusiastically told him everything.

“We’re gonna let you hang out and get yourself together here until you gotta hit the road again, because we’re hospitable like that and also I’ve never talked to a human before and this is really fuckin’ cool,” he cracked an endearing grin at Patrick, leading him towards, unmistakably, Haystack Rock. No doubt, this was Cannon Beach. “That’s where the colony is,” Joe pointed towards the huge sea stack. Patrick nodded, adjusting his glasses and taking a closer look. There were definitely a few figures hovering around it, diving in and out between rocks, and upon closer inspection, things that looked like nests, little campsites almost, lined every outcrop. “Didja know,” Joe went on rambling, “that this here is the third tallest intertidal sea stack in the world?” Patrick nodded, trying to conjure up a little enthusiasm about a rock, when suddenly he felt Joe’s arms around him and he was being lifted. 

Joe flew him up, dropping him down gently onto the rock. Patrick had managed to garner a little enthusiasm now, not about the rock, but about the dozens of avians surrounding him. He felt some eyes on him, but he hardly cared, considering he was staring just as much. Joe was still grinning at him. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Patrick nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Yeah,” he breathed. “It’s… amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Joe seemed pleased with Patrick’s wonderment. “It’s home,” he replied. “I’ll help you get settled?”

Patrick managed to tear his attention from his surroundings back to Joe. “Yeah,” he replied. “Thank you,”

Joe just smiled with a “no problem,” and, taking Patrick’s hand again, led him over to an indentation in the stone inside of which some kind of bed, thatched together with sticks and decorated with seashells, lay waiting. “This is Pete’s nest,” Joe explained. “He won’t mind sharing. Just, keep it down,” he winked, and Patrick felt his face going red, not knowing exactly how to respond except to nod. And then, Joe had flown off, leaving Patrick on his own. Tentatively, he made his way over the the nest. He supposed this was where he’d be living the next day or so, he may as well make himself at home.

He leaned over the nest, inspecting the contents of it. Not just sticks, he realized now, there were little bits of paper woven in, alongside seashells and sand dollars. Soft white feathers were also strewn almost everywhere, probably Pete’s, Patrick thought with a small smile. He stepped hesitantly into it, sitting down and finding that it was actually surprisingly comfortable. Not quite a memory foam mattress, but not bad. 

He was just getting settled in when he heard a voice behind him. “Hey,” Pete said quietly. 

“Hey,” Patrick replied, giving a small smile that wasn’t returned or even really acknowledged. Something was off. There was a beat of silence, and then Patrick spoke, “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Pete just shrugged. Patrick pursed his lips, wondering if he’d said something wrong. “Do you want to nap together? I mean, you gotta be exhausted, I know I am--”

“No, I'm alright,” Pete interrupted. If Pete was turning down a nap, there was most definitely something wrong.

Patrick didn't have a lot of time to interrogate him before Joe was back. “Yo, lovebirds!” He said loudly, landing next to Pete. 

Patrick snorted, cause lovebirds. Bird people. Heh. He could tell Joe had intricately planned that pun because of the wide grin that split across his face. “Patrick, you gotta come out here. I promised I'd introduce you--a human! Everyone’s really excited. Come on,” Patrick didn't have a lot of time to argue before he was being yanked out of the nest. He couldn't say he minded all that much, though, this was all such a fascinating experience, and he liked Joe well enough.

He glanced briefly back at Pete, although it was clear he wasn't tagging along. He slouched over, kicking his way over the the nest and flopping down into it like a deflated balloon. 

Pete went forgotten, though, as Patrick’s eyes fell upon an entire group of avians, staring him down intently like he was their prey. Oh, god, were avians carnivorous? When they sat him down, he was nestled between Joe and Andy, which helped a little, but still, he could tell he was out of place here. He remained polite, answering their various questions about human culture. Most of them didn't like him. He could tell. Why should they? There was a human invading on their territory, and humans were notorious for violence against other races. Hell, even their own race. There were probably a thousand cases of humans devastating avians that Patrick wasn't even aware of.

If it was any condolence to them, he'd be gone by morning. Eventually, when the conversation finally shifted away from him, he managed to slip away, returning to the nest where he found Pete curled in on himself, his back turned to Patrick.

Patrick knocked lightly on the rock. “You awake, Petey?”

Of course Pete was awake. He wasn't sure he'd ever sleep again without Patrick’s warmth curled against him. He considered faking it for a moment, though, until he realized Patrick could probably see right through him. Sighing, he answered. “Yeah. I'm up.”

Patrick made his way over, laying down next to Pete and burying himself in those soft wings, his face nuzzled into the back of Pete’s neck. He threw an arm over Pete’s torso, pulling his closer up against himself and biting his lip in concern when he didn't do much as stir.

The closest thing to a response he got was Pete asking a moment later, in the coldest, most distant voice he'd ever heard, “are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, that's the plan. Tomorrow morning.”

He was met with silence. No kiss goodnight, no wishes of good luck, not even an acknowledgement.

He fell asleep only when he forced himself to stop worrying.

The next morning, Patrick was awoken to cold, harsh morning light, the sound of waves crashing which last night had been soothing white noise now screaming in his ears, and a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hm…?” He muttered, an eye falling open lazily. The first thing he noticed was the emptiness next to him, the next was that it was Joe shaking him awake, the last, when he quickly grabbed his glasses, was the expression of concern of Joe’s face. “Patrick--Pete’s gone missing.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh my goodness! Ohmygoodness! Why did this take me so long to finish!! My apologies, augh!!
> 
> The Fall Out Boy concert was amazing. I can't believe it's been a month. One of the best nights of my life. Wow.
> 
> Thank you to all of those who have stuck with this story! I'm sorry I procrastinated so long on it, yikes! But it's finished now and I'm pretty proud of it as a whole :)
> 
> So here's that happy ending I promised you.

It was all panic and ‘what if’s and quiet wishes under his breath from there. The entire colony was so quiet, and Patrick hated it. Perhaps they were mourning. Taking a moment of silence, but that didn’t make any sense, Pete wasn’t dead yet. He couldn’t be. In that sense, their polite silence just angered Patrick more, in the fact that they could just abandon hope and interest in Pete so quickly. 

Joe and Andy were different, of course, but that’s because they’d been close to Pete. Joe had long since left to go scan the open waters, leaving Andy and Patrick to their own devices. Andy was unbelievably calm, but not in the same way as the rest of the colony. It was clear that he wasn’t dismissing the situation, he still clearly cared. He was hopeful. That’s what Patrick needed. 

Patrick’s eyes were fixed on the ground, watching himself put more and more sand behind him as he walked along the coastline. Completely lost in his thoughts. He blamed himself for all of this. There was very clearly something off about Pete the night prior. But he’d ignored it, and now the consequences were coming back with a vengeance. He felt Andy nudge his shoulder and whipped around, startled by being pulled so abruptly from his thoughts back to the real world.

“You okay?” Andy asked. Patrick relaxed, but only slightly.

He shrugged. He wasn't sure he'd be able to form a concrete answer without his entire demeanor crashing and burning. But it was building, it had been since that morning, the anxiety crashing into him and slowly wearing him away, eroding like the waves against the rocks of the coastline. And then everything was so surreal, hyper-defined and oversaturated, and everything was muffled and numb as if he were viewing everything from underwater all at once. The sound of a wave crashing was all it took, and he crashed too, the tears finally spilling over.

Andy stopped immediately, gathering Patrick into his arms and cocooning him in the soft sanctuary of his wings. Patrick sank right into it, letting himself pretend, for just a second, that it was Pete. It didn't make things much better though, because he knew it wasn't, which just brought more tears to his eyes and a stinging to every vein running through him.

Eventually, the sobs subsided, the storm passing. He went limp in Andy’s arms, hanging off of him completely. He felt drained, just so, so tired. “I--I just can't believe I didn't do anything. I knew something was wrong, but--but I didn't even--I just thought--”

And shushed him gently before he got himself worked up again. “It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not Pete’s either. It’s just that--” he finally let go of Patrick when he regained the strength to stand by himself. “--He loves you. He really does.”

He knew that already. It was painfully obvious, in fact, that Pete loved him. And he loved Pete back. Over the month or so they'd spent nearly every minute around each other for, they'd developed something, for sure. Patrick was pretty sure Pete understood him better than most anyone he'd ever met. They had no problem making each other smile and laugh. The constant affection, while excessive, was just what Patrick needed, like an assurance that Pete still cared. They loved each other. They'd just never said it, and now it was out in the open, put into words.

“I love him too,” Patrick’s voice dropped to a whisper. 

“I know you do,” Andy replied. “I'm going to go for a flight, see if I can spot him from up there. We’ll find him, I promise. It’ll all be okay.” Patrick nodded and with a beat of his wings, Andy made his way up into the air. Patrick watched him rise for a while until his eyes dropped down onto the waves again. Andy was right. Pete was out there.

He had to be.

-

The sun had set a couple hours prior and a chill had fallen over the length of the coastline. As optimistic as Patrick may have been earlier that day, things were looking worse and worse. Maybe they really wouldn't find Pete. Maybe he'd been claimed by the ocean’s icy jaws, doomed by the waves.

Patrick wouldn't let himself think that way. He walked the length of the jetty, fending off the more pessimistic thoughts. It was probably his own fault Pete had left everything anyway, so he was determined to right things.

Although, he hated that he'd begun to admit to himself, things seemed fairly hopeless. It was cold. He had to have careful footing to keep himself stable on the jagged and uneven rocks of the jetty. He'd been walking for hours and he was exhausted. Giving up seemed so easy now, just to succumb to the tiredness and drop down, probably off the rocks into the yawning expanses of sea.

He reached the edge of the jetty, faced by the void of blue beyond the cul de sac of rock. Standing had become too taxing, so he dropped down to his knees, ignoring how the rock stabbed up at him and just staring out at the water. He felt something cold on his face and it took a moment to realize that the reason why the stars were all blurred was because of a fluid film of tears that obstructed his vision and had begun to spill over down his face. He didn't have the energy to stop the tears.

He didn' know how long he stayed. Long enough to let the cold settle in and permeate his bones, long enough that he was too numb to tell when his skin ended and the night air began. Long enough to consider that maybe Pete really was gone. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut to block it out, it kept coming back. _He’s gone. I'll leave tomorrow. And then I'll have to get over it._

Despite himself, he started to sing. Out of some desire for warmth and familiarity, some assurance that it was going to be alright, he hummed a bit to himself. Just a few simple notes at first, until they caught on and a melody formed, something solemn, the sound carried by the waves. There he was again, singing to no one but the big empty ocean.

And then he felt the first thing he had for hours. His call for familiarity and warmth had been answered, and he jolted immediately as his blood thawed and started circulating again. He couldn't name the soft feeling surrounding him for a moment until there was a voice to accompany it.

“Please don't cry.”

His heart stopped for a moment.

_Pete._

Pete's soft and familiar voice, Pete’s warm wings enveloping him. Patrick spun around in an instant so that he could grip onto him, not daring to let go for fear he'd slip away again.

It took a moment to get over the initial shock until he could speak. “Oh my god,” he gasped, the first breath for what felt like hours hitting his lungs. “Pete, where did--why?” 

Pete remained silent for a solid minute, just holding Patrick, rocking him back and forth slowly, rubbing his back. “I'm not sure,” he answered at last. 

Patrick wanted to get mad at him, but he was so relieved to see him again that he just couldn’t. The best he could do was choke out something that vaguely resembled an insult and hold him tighter.

Pete slid his fingers into Patrick’s hair in response, petting through it gently. “I guess I'm just bad with goodbyes.” He paused. “God, what was I thinking. I shouldn’t have come back to find you. I’m just making this a million times harder for mys--”

Patrick shushed him. “Pete, it doesn’t have to...” he pulled back, placing both his hands on either side of Pete’s face to make sure he was looking at him. “I love you,” he said under his breath, but he was completely certain now. “Love” was definitely the right word.

Pete froze, his eyes locked with Patrick’s. “Oh,” he whispered. He knew it. He’d known it for a while now. Why else did the prospect of leaving Patrick seem so impossible? Why else was he drawn to that voice of his like a magnet? Why else would he rather his wing never heal if it meant he got to stay with Patrick for even a few more days? He loved him, and all the evidence was there, but Patrick finally did it, seized the final detail that drew it all together. 

“Oh!” he said louder.

Pete was rewarded with a smile from Patrick, teary, but no less genuine. He suddenly seemed to snap forward in time, everything he should have said during the few moments he was frozen in shocked silence pouring out at once. “I love, I mean, of course, I love you t--”

Patrick cut him off with a kiss. It was different from the other kisses they’d shared. Those had been fun, quick, just for the hell of it. There was more to this one, genuine, full of unbridled emotion and affection. Pete melted right into it, his wings falling around Patrick to pull him closer, encasing both of them in their own little bubble away from reality, one filled with only soft white feathers and warm loving feelings. A little pocket universe that was just theirs that Pete wanted to live in forever.

When Patrick pulled away from the kiss, letting his face still rest against Pete’s close enough so that he could feel Patrick’s eyelashes on his cheek, he had a tiny smile. “Pete,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me,” he assured.

“I’ve got you,” Pete echoed. 

“And nothing,” Patrick continued, “is going to separate us. Not even the entire ocean.”

“ _Fuck_ the ocean,” Pete said, which brought a chuckle out of Patrick. 

Letting everything else fall away, there was nothing but a flurry of feathers softly tousled in the breeze, soft breaths, and waves lapping leisurely at the rocks, holding no grudges or vengeance. Two hearts beat in time. The sea was calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that was cheesy
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated. 
> 
> THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU FOR READING. It means so much to me, I'm so glad people enjoyed this. Imagine that I am bowing under the spotlights with my eyes full of tears right now.
> 
> In conclusion, don't do drugs, stay in school, stay hydrated and get 9 hours of sleep. ALso, have a lovely day/night ♡♡♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> woooooooo00t thank you a ton for reading,, promise that chapters will get longer from here. like a bit at least, anyway comments are appreciated thanks again ♡


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